My Father, Batman: Part I
by Faith Hayes
Summary: I, Robin. The first in a series that tell of the adventures of Batman and Robin. When young Richard Grayson comes under the care of Bruce Wayne after the death of his parents, his life is turned upside down.
1. Chapter 1

The first in a series that tells the tale of Batman and Robin from Richard Grayson's perspective. The characters are of course not my own creation and elements of the story are pulled from various versions, including movies, and my own imaginations.

Warning: While I have a strict no profanity/no imitate details policy, there is child abuse in this story. I try to keep violence to a minimum without loosing the air of the story (they are crime fighters after all), but the really squeamish ones might want to skip a couple of parts in upcoming chapters.

* * *

My Father, Batman

Part I: I, Robin

Richard Grayson looked up from his book when the phone rang.  
"I got it!" Barbra called out from the kitchen where she was preparing dinner. "Hi Dad, how did the seminar go?" He smiled and went back to reading. "What do you mean?" Her voice- something was wrong. He stood just as his wife walked in holding the phone out to him.

"What wrong?"

"He won't tell me." Richard stared at the phone and took it from her. Before he even put the phone to his ear, he realized what had happened. He took a deep breath.

"District Attorney Richard Grayson."

There was a brief moment of silence at the other end of the line. "Dick, I need you to come down and identify a body." His eyes slid shut, and his chest sank within him. He had sincerely hoped that he was wrong. "I am so sorry."

"We'll be there tomorrow afternoon." Without waiting for a response, he handed the phone back to Barbara and sank down into the couch. He refused to cry...

Death, disease, war, famine. Many live in world where we know these things exist, but have we ever come into contact with them? Okay, so many of us have. A family member or friend dies. Somebody gets sick. There are still wars being fought, and some people go without basic needs on a daily basis. But do we know them? I mean personally know them. Is it something the average person sees every day? Maybe we think we do, but as I found out at the tender age of nine, I knew so little about the darker things of life. But that side introduced itself to me one day, and we have been close ever since. Is that a good thing? Probably not, as many would say. It is terrifying- I can admit that. But the good that came from it? It was worth it. But enough rambling on about my opinions. The public wants a story, and a story you shall have.

The question I get asked the most is "What was it like to know _the _Batman?" (I never figured out why they always say it like there was another one.) I usually say something like, "Interesting." or "Pretty cool." They are always are looking for some adventure story about the mysterious character that protected Gotham for most of his adult life. Yes, there are allot of adventure stories I could tell, but until now I have allowed it to remain a mystery. Why? Because many people don't realize this I guess, but losing those that you love is not fun. Okay, so most do realize this. But what we did was fulfilling, not fun. We nearly lost each other several times, and we've had our fair share of tears. That is why I never talked about it to people. They can never understand what we went through. The joys, the heartaches, the sorrow, and the victories. I do want them to understand though. Bruce Wayne was just a man who decided that he had had enough.

So what was it like to know the Batman? Well, it was interesting and pretty cool. While I held him with the highest respect, he was not just some menacing protector of Gotham (once I warmed up to him anyway). To me he was just "Dad." I never really called him that, but he was. It's been a long time since the night of my real parents' deaths, but I still remember it. Most of it anyway.  
My parents, talented acrobats, fell to their death. What happened before that? It doesn't matter, because when I saw my parents lying on the ground beneath me, it really did not matter what happened before that. I was nine; I was not stupid. I knew that if you fell from a height like that, it would be a miracle if you survived. I later wondered why my parents would be dumb enough to perform at such a height without a net, and even more so, why they would let me do it too. But my parents were not idiots and they did care about me, so I decided not to worry about it. What's done is done.

That night changed my life. I remember sitting on the ground trying not to cry while the cops were busy figuring out what was going on. (I did not find out until latter that my parents were actually murdered.) Commissioner Gordon arrived and took charge of the scene. If you never have the chance to meet him, he is a tall man with the kindest smile- unless he's arresting you, I suppose. He has sad blue eyes and had somewhat shabby brown hair at the time. Not because he was unkempt, but he would sometimes be up all night working and I guess his hair was not a priority. His shoulders always seemed to sag just a little, like the weight of Gotham's troubles was bearing down on him. But he was a take charge type of person, and did everything in his power to see justice done. He came up to me almost as soon as he entered the crowded circus tent. He saw to it that they cleared out everyone who had no business being at the crime scene, talked to one of the officers, and then walked right up in front of me. But he did not just stand over me; he knelt down to my level. "What's your name, son?"

He knew who I was. It was not like they had not told him anything. I did not answer him.

"Richard, do you want to come sit over here?" He was gesturing to the front row of seats in the stands.

"No."

"Okay, I'll have one of the officers bring you a blanket. You going to be okay here?" I nodded and he place one hand on my shoulder before going back to the group of officers.

That is exactly how it went. I remember, because it impressed me that the commissioner let me be. Allot of other adults had tried to move me or get me to talk; he just let me mourn. I watched him that night. Men like him are rare. The world could use a few more Commissioner Gordons.

As I was watching them investigate, take pictures, and ask people questions, a man in a very nice suit walked up to the commissioner and started talking to him. They both looked over at me every now and then. It wasn't that cold, but I pulled the blanket the officer had brought me around my shoulders very tightly. There's something comforting about being wrapped up when you are a child. Commissioner Gordon nodded and the man he was talking to started towards me. He was tall, very tall. Strong build, business like, and did not seem like he smiled often. Black hair and dark eyes- this was Bruce Wayne. "Richard Greyson," His voice was deep and a bit menacing, even though I think he was trying to be comforting. "I'm Bruce." That was all he said, and he just stood there with his hand held out for me to shake. It was awkward.

He clearly had no intentions of leaving so I stood and shook his hand. He had a very firm handshake and warm hands. My fingers must have been terribly cold because he took my other hand and placed them both between his. He let go when the commissioner joined us. "Richard, Mr. Wayne has offered to let you stay with him tonight if you are comfortable with that." I looked up at Bruce. I did not trust him, I really didn't but the commissioner seemed to think it was a good idea. What was wrong with staying here though?

"Sure." My parents had told me to stay away from strangers. I don't think I really cared what happened to me anymore. Maybe that's why I agreed.

The commissioner turned to Bruce. "Bring him in tomorrow afternoon, if you could."

"I'll see to it, James." I followed Bruce out of the tent. We were far enough outside the city that we could see the stars above us. It was beautiful. I would not have notice though if Bruce had not randomly stopped, knelt down in the grass beside me, and pointed up to a shooting star. "Make a wish."

I was a serious nine-year-old (sometimes), and thought making wishes was a stupid waste of time. That night though, I wished for my parents back. Obviously, I did not get my wish exactly as I had wanted, but I did have a father kneeling next to me at that very moment. Why did he tell me that? If I am to be completely honest, I have no idea. To this day some of the things he did puzzle me. He was a serious, single-minded man, but sometimes he would spontaneously do something affectionate or childlike. Usually he was unexpressive of anything he felt though. Don't get me wrong. He cared; he really did. About allot of things.

He stood back up and we walked to the car. A Rolls-Royce. I got the impression that this guy was rich. He unlocked it and opened the door for me. I was holding back tears as we drove away. It hurt, and for a moment I wondered if it was worth the pain to continue living. Thankfully, Bruce started talking to me and I did not dwell on that thought for too long. "I'm sorry about your parents." He stated it so plainly. I just shrugged my shoulders and turned my head to stare out the window. "I lost my own parents when I was ten. They were shot." That was supposed to make me feel better? At the time, I thought not, but I did suddenly feel a little more comfortable knowing that at least I was not the only one who had ever felt this way. It did not lessen the pain any, but it did make it just a little bit easier to bear. "I was there when it happened."

Just because he understood what it was like to lose his parents too did not mean that I liked where this conversation was going. "I don't want to talk about it." I mumbled it under my breath actually, and was very surprised that he heard it. (I later learned that if you did not want Batman to hear you, just don't say anything. And even then he can sometimes hear you.)

"You don't have to, Richard. I already know what you're going through." The rest of the drive was silent. Bruce had said what he needed too, and I did not know what to say.

I would have been reluctant to admit it, but I was exhausted. Then again, maybe I would not have admitted it because I did not realize it. I remember leaning my head against the window, and when I woke up, I was in a huge bed and surrounded by pillows and blankets. (I mean literally surrounded; I had difficulty sitting up at first.) When I did finally manage to sit up, I took a look around the room that would be mine for the entire time that I would live in Wayne Manor. At the time though, it was just a strange room that I had woken up in. Light from the sunrise was streaming in through the cracks between the heavy curtains. The bed I was in was a huge canopy bed with scarlet curtains that had been left pulled back. It had bedding to match. A dark nightstand on either side and a matching dresser against the opposite wall. To my right was the door to a walk in closet, although it was closed at the moment. To my left, the door to bathroom stood slightly ajar, and the open door leading into the hall was right in front of me. While it was a very nice room (and it was even better after I fixed it up), to a child who had woken up with no memory of being there the night before, it was a rather creepy place.

I worked my way out of the bed and stood on the very soft carpet. It was then that I realized my shoes were missing and that I was dressed in pajamas that were probably more expensive than my entire wardrobe combined. I was genuinely frightened for a few minutes and just stood there. I don't know how long it was until I decided to move, but I did remember noticing that Mr. Wayne was rich, so this was probably his house.  
Gathering up some courage, I decided to explore. I did not get very far down the hall. "Oh, good morning, Master Greyson." My heart jumped in my chest, as did I, and I turned around at the sound of the very distinct British accent. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to startle you, and I am very sorry for your loss."

My first thought was "Who is this guy?" Seriously, unless Bruce had turned into a British man in his fifties, I was in the wrong place. (Obviously I really wasn't, but I had never met a butler before.) I'm sure most reading this never had the chance to meet Alfred in person, but he was one of the most amazing men I have ever had the privilege of knowing. He was just taller than average and had grey hair. Although he told me that it was once the most beautiful black hair anyone had ever laid eyes on. (I think he exaggerated because he was going for one of those "nothing lasts forever" object lessons, but whatever.) Blue eyes and the noblest demeanor I had ever seen. He was very talented. Cook, chauffer, personal accountant, maid (although to ever call him that one was suicide), librarian, counselor, and self-proclaimed babysitter of Bruce Wayne. A true man of skill and wisdom.

Needless to say, Alfred kept me so busy the first two hours of the morning that I did not have time to be upset about the night before, and looking back on it, I think that is what he was going for. First he brought me some of Bruce's old clothes (I don't know why he kept them, nor do I want to), and I showered and changed. Then I ate breakfast and helped Alfred with the dishes. We straightened up the library, did the laundry, and then went outside to work in the garden. Alfred made it fun though, as I found he always did, and told me war stories as we worked. I think some of them he made up over the years, but neither I nor Bruce really cared; he was just great to listen to. The whole time we did this, however, I saw nothing of Bruce. In fact, it was Alfred who drove me to the police station after lunch.  
I said goodbye to Alfred. I thought about extending my thanks to Mr. Wayne, but that man still frightened me. Alfred I could have spent all day with though, and was actually sad that I would never see him again.

* * *

Let me know what you think, and if you see any outstanding grammatical errors, I'm not the type be offended if you let me know. Better to be corrected by one than to be ridiculed by many. Just bear in mind that some punctuation and sentence fragments are" artistic licence," shall we say?


	2. Chapter 2

The next few of days seemed to blend together. I only saw Commissioner Gordon once during that time. There was allot going on, and I understood none of it. The police station was busy place; most of the time I just sat in a chair and watched them. Occasionally they would ask me questions. Some were about my parent's death, and that was something I was very reluctant to talk about. I could not tell them much anyway. Other questions were basic things, like my name, date of birth, and allot of other things I did not know, but the circus manager took care of those answers for me. It was the second day that some lady from the childcare services came up to me and said, "Hey there, sweetie. I'm going to take you meet your foster parents." She kept talking, but I ignored her. For one thing, she was way too happy for the job she had. The other thing that bugged me was that I had no idea what a "foster parent" was. So when the lady (still talking) lead me to some other lady, I just stood there. "Well, go on. Say hello."

The other lady walked to me when I refused to move. "Hi, Richard. I'm Sandy Marcher; my husband is at work. You'll meet him later tonight. We are so sorry about your parents. If you need anything at all, don't be afraid to tell me." She spoke very sweetly and laid a hand on my shoulder. I guess she was nice enough, but something told me I did not want to go with this woman. Just like with Bruce though I did anyway. Sandy tried talking to me on the way to her apartment, but the desire was not mutual, and she eventually let me be. It took a while to get there since she lived near the outskirts of the city. Once we arrived, she showed me around the apartment. It was small and rather nice. I don't remember much else about it; I wasn't there for very long after all. She showed me my room, and that is where I chose to stay for the rest of the evening; she even let me eat supper in there.

There were no real problems until her husband came home. I remember hearing something fall over as someone come in the door. I got up to investigate and peeked out of my room. "Phil, what are you doing!" Sandy had rushed in from the kitchen and saw the table by the entryway knocked over. I could smell the alcohol on him from all the way over there. The man was staggering and mumbled something at her. "I told you to lay off the liquor!" He just angrily shoved her aside and started for the kitchen, but then he looked over at me.

"You nosy eavesdropper!" I quickly ducked into my room and backed into the corner. They were arguing outside the door. Sandy was franticly trying to tell him to stop: Phil was yelling while fumbling with the door handle. He finally got the door open. "Come here you! I'm going to teach you to mind your own business!"

"Phil, if you don't stop this instant, I- I'm going to call the cops!" He already had hold of my arm though. "Phil!" (For the record, Sandy really was very nice lady, but not very smart for marrying Phil.)

Up until that night no one had ever hit me with the intention of hurting me. My dad and I did use to wrestle some, but he was always careful. Phil was not. He shoved me against the wall, and rammed his fist into my stomach. I fell on my knees. I think I would have cried if I could have, but the breath had been knocked out of me. It was hard enough to gasp for air. Sandy had run off to call the cops I suppose, because when I looked up it was just Phil. He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I try not to think about what he would have done next, and I never gave him the chance to do anything else. I did exactly what my dad had told me to do if someone ever tried to hurt me. I hit him between the legs as hard as I could, and then I ran. Strait out the door and did not stop until I was out of breath. (Which was rather far. I was an acrobat, as you might recall, and had my share of exercise.)

The only disadvantage to what I did was that I had no idea where I was. It was dark out and the street lamps were either weak or not working at all. I was in a very run down and deserted area of Gotham. At first I stayed where I was, hoping someone who could help would come along. After a little while though, it became evident that this was not going to happen, and started walking in a random direction.

It was cold, I was exhausted, my stomach hurt form where Phil had hit me earlier, and soon all I wanted to do was just lie down and die. I was about to at least go through with the lying down part when I heard voices. I cautiously moved into the alleyway where I had heard them. In the light from a window above them, I could see two men standing with their backs to me. It was the one I did not see that I had to worry about. He grabbed both my arms from behind and shoved me forward to where the others were standing. "Hey, guys! Look what caught."

"Let go!" I struggled against him, but could not free myself. One of the others laughed and grabbed my chin.

"Well, he's just a cutie, ain't he?" I was thrown to the ground.

Now, I suppose at this point, most kids would be scared and crying. I was crying, yes, but not because I was afraid, but because I was mad. I honestly don't know what possessed me at that moment, but I was ready to get up and take down all three of them. I was determined to teach them a lesson.

One of them laughed when I stood up and pulled my fists up, which only made me even angrier. I was about to throw the first punch, but I never got the chance. Yep, that's right; it was Batman to the rescue.

I fell back in shock as this gigantic bat swept down and had all three men unconscious before I had a chance to process what was going on. Then he turned to me. He really did look like a bat, especially in the poor lighting. Except he was also a man. Now I was frightened. This was the first time I had ever been to Gotham, and I, like most nine-year-olds, never cared about the news. I had never heard of Batman, the Dark Knight, protector of Gotham, and a bunch of other crazy titles he's been given over the years. "What are you doing out here?"

No answer came out of my mouth. I do distinctly remember wondering if it was going to eat me, which was a rather silly notion since I had figured out that it was a man in a creepy costume by that point. But I was still too afraid to say anything.

We stared at each other for a moment before he came over and knelt beside me. He grabbed my wrist, and I panicked. I screamed and tried to pull away from him (unsuccessfully of course). He actually let me fight him for about a minute, but held on firmly to my arms. I was already tired, and the struggle did not last long. I eventually gave up and sat there sobbing. He pulled me into his lap and pressed my head against his chest. Leaning his head down, he whispered in his deep, rough voice, "You're okay." And then I passed out. (To be more accurate, he knocked me out. He never admitted to doing it, but I wasn't that bad off that night. And I've been drugged several times since then; I know what it feels like.)

I woke up very slowly. Everything was very hazy for probably the first five minutes. I don't remember much of what happened as I awoke, but when I was finally more alert, I found that I was being carried in the arms of Batman. Even though he did not look down at me, I was certain that he knew I was awake anyway, so I spoke up. "Where am I?" My tiny voice echoed through the cave, and my heart jumped when I heard bats rustling.

"Relax, they won't hurt you." He sat me down on the top of a desk. "Wait here." I did as he asked; where was I supposed to go? I watched him disappear into the shadows. We were underground, that I could tell. I could hear the rushing of water somewhere nearby.

I jumped again when lights all across the roof of the cavern came on and the bats started flying around. It was still dreary, but I could see better. Gape is more what I did though. I realize that few have ever seen the "batcave," and it really is something you would have had to see with your own eyes in order to understand. It has changed some over the years, but the essence of it has remained the same- awesome. From where I was sitting when I got my first true glimpse of it, I saw the largest computer ever (compared to what I had seen up to that point). It was off, which made the massive screen hard to see at first because it was transparent, which was also something I had never seen before. There were tables standing in the middle of the floor; each was neatly lined with various equipment which really did look awesome to someone who had no idea what they did. In the distance, I could see the Batmobile. That was amazing. I did not observe much beyond that at the time though because Batman came back carrying a metal box with a red cross on it- a first aid kit, I assumed. When he sat it down next to me and opened it though, along with the usual things you would expect to find in a first aid kit, there were several small glass bottles and syringes.

He took my arm and started cleaning the nasty scrape just above my elbow that I had not even noticed until he put the alcohol pad on it. It stung, but I sat still without flinching. "Who are you?"

He glanced at me. "Batman."

That did not suffice for me. "Nobody would name their kid 'Batman.'"

"You don't need to know my name." He started wrapping my elbow in gauze.

"So, is it like a code name?" He did not answer me. "Because it couldn't be a superhero name." Still, he said nothing. "You're too scary to be someone like Superman."

He finished putting the gauze away, and I was starting to think that this was going nowhere. "Thank you. Superman and I operate very differently."

I smirked at him. "Well, yeah. Superman's not real."

"Who told you that?"

"My dad."

"Well, unfortunately, your dad was wrong."

I got a bit mad at him. Not because of anything Batman had said really, but because I had started thinking about my parents, and it hurt too much to do that.

Batman turned one of the little glass bottles upside-down and stuck a needle through the foil. I had seen the nurse do that, and knew very well what was coming next. I already did not like shots, and I did not even know what he was giving me. I was about to jump down and run (to where, I don't know), but Batman was too quick and grabbed my arm. "No, stop. This isn't okay!" Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I looked up at Batman's eyes that were shadowed by his mask. There was a firm will hidden in them, but there was also compassion.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Richard." The fact that he knew my name without me having told him did not stand out to me; I just started sobbing. He did not let go, but he did set the syringe down for the moment.

"I want to go home!" But I did not know where that was. "I just want to die." My fountain of tears was stopped by the shock of being shoved off the desk and hitting the floor. (Okay, so before anyone gets the idea that Batman was really just that cruel, allow me to insert that although I was shaken by the fall, the most of my injuries consisted of a couple of bruises. His methods were a rather unorthodox, but he never actually harmed me. Ever.) I turned over and looked up at him, but he had already knelt down over me.

"What could possibly make someone as young as you wish for something that you do not understand?"

"My parents are dead!"

"So are mine. What were you doing out there on your own?"

"Why should I trust you? I don't even know you!"

"If you plan on dying anyway, what does it matter?"

Weird as it is, that was all I needed for him to convince me that I did not really want to die. I was just being stupid, as he would have put it. "I have nowhere to go."

"What happened with your foster parents?" He picked me up and sat me back up on the desk.

"How do you know about that?"

"I know allot of things." He wiped the side of my arm, stuck the needle in before I could protest again. "What happened?" I looked anywhere but at Batman. I really had no desire to talk about it. It frightened me. "Did they hurt you?" Sometimes silence speaks more than words; almost immediately he started checking me over, starting at my head and working down. I flinched when he touched my stomach. He started to pull my shirt up, but then stopped. "I'm just going to take a look, okay?" He took my silence as consent. "You'll be fine. Just sore for a while."

I watched him reorganize his kit and close the lid. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I forgot to thank you for saving my life." He tried to hide it, but I remember seeing the corner of his mouth twitch just a little. He was fighting a smile.

We got in the batmobile shortly after that, and while most would probably think to stay awake for this (in most cases) once in a lifetime opportunity to ride in the batmobile with the Batman, I did not. I was exhausted fell asleep very quickly actually; I think we drove through the waterfall or something, and the next thing I remember is Batman waking me up.

I sat up strait and rubbed my eyes as the roof lifted up. Batman came around and lifted me out onto the ground. We were parked across the street from the police station. "Go."

"I don't want to go back." I turned looked up at him. It's not that I had any real desire to stay with this creepy guy, but I had no desire to go back to Mr. and Mrs. Marcher. (I did not really understand the system yet, so yes, I did actually think they would be crazy enough to send me back).

"You'll be fine."

"You don't know that." (He did actually, I just did not know that he knew that.)  
Batman removed a bat-shaped metal thing from his belt and handed it to me.

"Careful. It's sharp."

"What is it?"

I could see he was thinking of the best way to explain it. "You know those things that ninjas throw in the movies?"

I had never seen a ninja movie before. "Boomerangs?"

"No."

"Baterang." (Yes, yes, I was the one who came up with that stupid name. I was nine, okay?)

Batman sighed. "Look, if anyone tries to hurt you, just stab them with it." It was a bit of a violent notion and was nothing more than a way for him to alleviate my childish fears, but I thought it was neat, so I took off my shoe and stuck it under the sole.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want them to take it."

I could not see him roll his eyes, but I'm sure he did. "Go."

I did not have much of a choice so I started to cross the street. When I got to the other side I laid my hand on the handle to the door of the police station, but before I went in I looked over my shoulder to see if he was still there. He was. I smiled at him- it was the first real smile I had given since my parents had died. They guy honestly sent shivers down my spine, but I liked him, even though I could not think of a reason. He, on the other hand, just stood there, waiting for me to go in.

I turned my back and walked in. As soon as I told the lady officer who I was, the commotion started. I was taken to see a doctor. I was pelleted with tons of questions about what happened. At first, the officer asking me the questions did not believe me when I told him that it was Batman who saved me, but since I offered no other explanation, he reluctantly recorded it. I remember that the commissioner came down, and talked to me about it. He did believe me, and told me that the privilege to see Batman so close was one that few had, and those that did have it, often were the bad guys.

My relief was great when I was told that I would not be seeing Mr. and Mrs. Marcher again (Mr. Marcher just happened to be in jail, for one thing). Then they told me I was being adopted. That I understood, at least enough to be worried. To start with, I did not want new parents; I wanted my real ones. It did not help that the officer would not tell me by whom I was being adopted. When I finally did find out that it was Bruce Wane, I felt okay with it. I was not exactly happy, but I liked Alfred, so I figured I could deal with it until I found a way to escape to some place cool like Africa or something.

It was actually Alfred who picked me up. We arrived at Wane Manor, and Alfred helped me get moved into the same room I had been in before. The next two days were actually rather uneventful. I followed Alfred around helping him with things (although I probably got in the way more than anything else), and when I was not doing that, I went exploring through the Manson. I did just about anything that would keep my mind off of the events of the past week. I was in denial, and while I tried to act like I was okay, when I went to sleep at night it took everything I had to not burst in to tears. I did not want that, because once the tears started, I was afraid that they would not stop.


End file.
